


The Ritual

by goldensnitch18



Series: Scared, Potter? [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensnitch18/pseuds/goldensnitch18
Summary: Harry and Draco perform their yearly ritual.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Scared, Potter? [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1012863
Kudos: 26





	The Ritual

The curve of his back in the moonlight was tempting in the way only something utterly bare can be. Draco felt almost guilty at the reaction his body had to the site of Harry’s skin bathing in the soft glow. He knew what Harry was doing, what was running through his mind. There was no need to wonder why his lover had vacated the warm and comfortable bed for the gentle chill of early morning, or late night, whatever one desired to call this hour of dark. It was the memories, calling him, pulling him back when Draco wanted nothing more than to keep his blinders blocking everything but forward. 

He stepped out onto the balcony, eyes trailing from Harry’s dropped face to his clenched hands gripping the railing. The ache hung around him like a veil. Draco could feel it permeate him, digging deeper the closer he got to Harry. By the time his fingers grazed across the skin he had been admiring from the doorway, he was consumed with Harry’s emotion. “Harry.” The man didn't move, obviously having heard Draco approaching. “Come back to bed.” 

“I can’t,” Harry replied, his eyes tight. 

“You're supposed to have left this at home,” Draco chided, but he couldn't be upset, or even surprised, that Harry would be himself, holding the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. 

“It’s that easy for you?” Harry asked, but Draco knew he knew better. 

“No.” Draco carried that day nearly as heavily as Harry, but he had hoped that a trip, a surprise at the last minute, might help ease the pain this year. He should have known that the ghosts which haunted this beautiful martyr of his would follow them anywhere they went on this particular day. He leaned forward, his chin resting where his fingers had been as his arms moved around Harry’s waist. His lips moved of their own accord, leaving one soft, slow kiss after another. 

“Remus Lupin,” Draco whispered, and Harry eased beneath him, the comfort of the ritual washing over him. 

“Nymphadora Tonks,” Harry replied. 

“Gregory Goyle,” Draco countered. 

“Fred Weasley.” Harry’s arms sagged just a hair as he loosened his grip on the rail. 

“Lavender Brown.” Draco kissed him again, wishing he could damn this forsaken ritual to Hell. Harry claimed he needed it, that he needed their names, and so Draco gave them to him, despite the stabs of guilt that pierced him as they spoke. 

“Severus Snape.” Harry took a steady breath. 

Draco tightened his grip on his waist. “Colin Creevy.” They continued on, each one knowing the next name before it was spoken aloud, Harry becoming more and more himself as Draco fought against the temptation to succumb to the truth of what he had done so long ago. The list was long, seemingly never ending. Finally, Harry leaned his head back against Draco’s shoulder. “Bellatrix Lestrange,” Draco said, the name still tasting of poison. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Harry added, completing the list. He sighed, content, his eyes closed in easy contemplation as Draco squeezed his shut, begging his heart to calm. The ritual of the list was his penance. While name after name freed Harry, allowing him to forgive himself for his role, it carved deeper into Draco, reminding him with each moment that he had been wrong, that he had as good as killed several of those people, and more. He had his own list. The one he kept in the back of his mind. The one he never shared with Harry. Among the names were Charity Burbage, Dobby, with whom Harry had formed some odd friendship Draco would never understand, and Albus Dumbledore. Each name more painful than the last for their own reasons.

This year, Draco had tried to hide from the names, pulling Harry across the world to sand and sun and freedom, but his lover was nothing if not noble. His ritual followed them, ghosting across the globe to find them here on the balcony of the vacation home Draco had rented from a Muggle for the week. 

He was lucky. So damn lucky. In all of that, in all the death and loss, he had emerged and been given a second chance to remedy where he had faltered. Harry had extended his hand to him after his trial, and by some miracle of fate, Draco had clasped it back, completing the handshake he had begun 7 years previously. Over achingly slow days, months, and years, love had swallowed them, surrounding them, permeating to their cores, and Draco had realized with utter amazement that this man was his, the one person he would never be able to live without. And, so, he performed the ritual, saying each name with steady voice despite what they were surely doing to his soul.


End file.
